


Dreams of Secret

by littlemissnicole



Category: Original Work
Genre: Diners, F/M, Harlequin romance novel, I can't tag a lot w/o spoiling but I'll add more, This is literally a, Waiters & Waitresses, starts as slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissnicole/pseuds/littlemissnicole
Summary: While working as a waitress in her adopted mother's diner, Camille Morley meets the attractive and mysterious Al. After a long romance and a night of passion, Camille learns a secret that tears them apart- right before she finds out she's pregnant- with his twins! Now, five years and a lot of life later, Al's back. Will Camille open her heart to him again?





	1. Prologue part 1: Make it easy

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters will be Pre-time skip and the rest will all be post, don't worry!  
> Follow me on tumblr at cadelnicolekatieandcamille!

Camille sighs, turning the page of her new book as she stands at the front counter. It'll be fine, there are no customers yet.  
  


Probably.    
  


"Camille!" Someone shouts, sending Camille jumping out of her skin. "Get your head out of the clouds and start getting ready for the day."   
 

She glances over at Laura, her “boss”, sister, and co-waitress, flipping her the bird and stashing her book under the counter. Laura flips her one back, tying back her long blonde hair, making Camille grin. Some things never change, she knows, and her little diner is one of the most static places in the capital. 

Rachel comes in, sidling up next to her with a small, private smile. Camille smiles back, holding out her fist. Rae rolls her eyes fondly but bumps knuckles with her. Their hair is matching shades of purple, and their uniforms, navy t-shirts and black slacks, are clean, for now.  

The day begins. They're not that busy, her little shop, but they manage to pay the bills and everyone they employ. This shift is busier than others, leaving Camille almost constantly run off her feet, but it's alright. Being busy helps the shifts go by, after all.   


The day goes as it typically does- after the rush calms down, Camille gently goads Rachel and Laura into taking a break, knowing they won't be busy for a good while.    
  


She's in the prep kitchen, letting a holo-vid of the news play on her phone while she mixes dough for bread when the bell on the door rings.  
 

"Just a second!" She calls, covering the dough with one rag and using another to try and wipe the flour from her hands.    
  


"Take your time!" A male voice calls back, and Camille ducks through the door that separates the front and back.   
 

"Sorry about that," She says, looking at the dark-haired man, watching as he sits at the table catty-corner to the counter. "Let me get you a menu, one sec."    
  


"What can I get for your drink?" She asks, a few seconds later, swapping the menu for her notepad and reaching behind her ear for her pen.   
 

He looks... almost startled, for a moment? Before his face smoothes out into a well-practiced smile. A... somewhat familiar smile.    
  


"Do I know you?" Camille asks, tapping her pen against the corner of her mouth.   
 

"No," The guy says, his well-practiced smile turning into a genuine, boyish grin, more in place with his well-worn jeans, university t-shirt and hair that curls around his face and ears. His voice is super familiar too, what the fuck.    
  


"Are you sure?" She asks, squinting at him. "Have you been in here before?"   
 

"No, actually, though I'll certainly be coming in a lot more," He says with a wink, brushing his hair out of his face and Camille giggles.    
  


"Well, what can I get for you?"   
 

"What would you recommend?" He asks, pushing his menu away to lean forward on his elbows, closer to Camille.    
  


"Well," She says, leaning all her weight onto one leg, "I make the bread daily, and our line cook makes everything to order, so all of it's good, but you can never go wrong with chocolate pancakes."   
 

He taps his menu. "Then I'll have those."    
  


"And your drink?" Camille asks, swiping up his menu from his table.   
 

"Whatever your favorite is," He says, smiling. "And I don't have any dietary restrictions, before you worry."    
  


Camille smiles, nodding. "Alright, give me just a minute to put this in and I'll grab that for you."   
 

She goes back into the kitchen to drop the order off with the line cook, grabbing a glass to squirt cherry syrup into it.    
  


"Cherry limeade," She says cheerfully, placing the glass carefully at his elbow. He's got his phone pulled out now, checking what looks like his email. "Just this side of tart."   
 

The bell rings, signaling a finished order. "Let me go grab that," Camille says.    
  


She dashes back into the kitchen to grab the guy's order, ducking into the back to put the bread in the fridge. It'd still rise, just slowly.   
 

Then she goes back out, carrying his plate in one hand and a bottle of chocolate syrup. "They taste great with normal syrup as well," she says, placing them both on the table, "but I prefer mine with more chocolate."   
  


The guy just smiles. "That sounds perfect."   
 

Camille invites herself to sit, crossing her ankles and tucking them under her seat out of habit.    
  


The guy smiles, holding out a hand. "My name is-" he hesitates, not long, but long enough that Camille notices. "Al," the guy says, still holding up his hand.   
 

"Camille," she says, taking his hand and shaking it. "Are you new to the Capital?"    
  


The guy- Al- shrugs, popping a bite of pancake in his mouth. "You could say that. My parents were from here, but I just got back from school. "   
 

Camille nods understandingly. She'd pegged him to be around her age - not that she knew what her actual age was - but just out of Uni puts him directly in her peer group. Perfect.    
  


They sit and talk for a while longer- about his schooling, things around the Capital, the state of the economy- and Camille finds herself smiling almost as much as he's left her thinking.    
  


Al's responses are amazingly thought out between bites of chocolate pancake, joking and giving her serious, thought-provoking answers in equal measure.   
 

"Can I borrow a pen?" He asks, well after he's polished off his pancakes. They've been sitting and talking for a while now- Rae and Laura are both puttering around in the back now, but no one has come in.    
  


"Yeah, sure," Camille says, reaching for the purple pen stuck firmly behind one ear. When she hands it over, he grabs her hand before she can pull it back, scrawling something neatly across her palm.   
 

It's a phone number.    
  


Camille flushes, but plucks her pen from Al and takes his hand, scrawling her own number on his palm.   
 

"Just in case it washes off before I get the chance to text you," she explains, at Al's confused look. "So you can text me first and keep me from second-guessing myself."    
  


"Honest," Al says, admiringly. "I like it. Will I see you here tomorrow? Same time?"   
 

"If you're asking me to a date in the diner I work in, the answer is no," Camille says with a laugh. "But I won't turn down your company if you're offering a repeat of today."   
  


"I'm sure I could bring more than that," Al offers, "Like cards? Invite your other waitresses," He says, with a nod to the back.   
 

"Oh, they won't play with me," Camille says offhandedly. "They say I cheat."    
  


"You do!" Laura yells from the back of the store.  
 

Camille laughs out loud, turning to face the counter. "You just can't lie for shit!"    
  


"You're a goddamn dirty cheater!" Laura insists, appearing at the counter with her apron thrown carelessly over her shoulder. "Don't let her lie to you, my guy," Laura says to Al. "Camille cheats like hell."    
  


"I'll have to tell for myself," Al says, teasingly. "But you're welcome to join us and prove yourself right."   
 

"As long as my paycheck isn't on the line again," Laura says. "I _refuse_ to lose my whole goddamn paycheck to a cheat."   
  


"I'm not cheating!" Camille insists, but she's grinning.   
 

Someone walks into the diner, and they all stiffen, but Al ducks his head and says a quick "Gotta go, bye!" and leaves, shoulders bunched up around his ears.    
  


Camille looks at Laura, who looks just as confused, but they get swamped and they don't talk about it for another couple of hours, despite their best efforts. 

—

Camille has to wait until her shift is over to look at her phone (a cheap, but reliable model in a case that keep her phone from breaking the _eight thousand_ times Camille drops it), peering down at the glowing screen as she trudges up the stairs at the back of the diner to her apartment above the business.   
 

Their mom had offered it to all three of them, but Camille is the only one who’d taken her up on the offer- she was willing to share, it had two bedrooms, but their younger sister, Molly, said she was going to stay in her college dorm, and Laura said someone had to stay with their mom to make sure she didn’t lose her head.    
  


Camille goes into her apartment, dropping her keys on the coffee table and dropping onto her couch with a sigh. She needs to shower, but instead she pulls her phone out of her pocket, checking her messages.   
 

Normally they’re empty- Camille usually doesn’t text anyone she doesn’t see on an almost-daily basis- but it flashes with an unknown number:    
  


_‘Hey, it’s Al! From earlier?’_ From about three hours ago.   
 

‘ _Hi!_  
  


_Sorry, work was crazy after you left!’_

   
 _‘No worries- how are you?_ ’  
 

They text back and forth, and Camille finds herself laughing more and more as she gets sleepier and sleepier.   
 

She falls asleep on her couch, phone in hand, still wearing her work uniform.   
  


Laura shakes her awake the next morning. “Jesus, Cam, answer your phone.”   
 

“ _Shit_ , what?” Camille asks, staring through squinted eyes at Laura. “What time is it?”   
  


“It’s almost noon, dude, your shift started like an hour ago.”   
 

“Shit-“ Camille rockets up, sprinting for the bathroom. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”    
  


“We did!” Laura yells, following her to the bathroom. “It went straight to voicemail!”   
 

Camille grabs her toothbrush, trying to wake up her phone. “It’s dead,” She groans. “Fuck, I stayed up so late texting Al-“    
  


“Oh, so _he’s_ the reason you’re late?” Laura asks, peering curiously through the bathroom door at Camille.   
 

Camille doesn’t answer, just flips her sister the bird and continues brushing her teeth.    
  


“Wait until I tell Mom,” Laura says, teasing. “Oh, Mom, the reason Cam overslept and missed her shift was because of a _boy!_ ”  
 

Camille spits. “You tell her that and _I’ll_ tell her the truth about what happened to your hair when we were fifteen.”   
  


Laura’s blue eyes narrow dangerously. “You _wouldn’t._ ”   
 

Camille takes her hair down and tries to run a brush through the dark mass, glaring at her through the mirror. “Try me.”    
  


They glare at each other for a second before Laura throws up her hands. “Fine, fine, I won’t tell her. Jeez, Cam.”   
 

“I just- want to wait until I know this is serious,” Camille explains, tying her hair back and brushing past Laura.    
  


“You stayed up until God-knows-when, and you _let your phone die_ ,” Laura tugs Camille’s arm to make her sister turn and look her in the eyes. “You _never_ let your phone die. _You’d_ die first.”   


Camille rolls her eyes. sitting on the couch to pull on her no-slips. “It is _not_ that serious,” she insists, stubbornly. 


	2. Lover, Lover, if You're Able

It… _may_ be that serious. 

 

After that second afternoon, when Al charms the hell out of Camille’s sisters and beats the pants off of Camille, he becomes a regular fixture at Morley’s.   
  


After the first few times Camille noticed him dodging the views of other patrons, whether by straight up leaving or by ducking into the bathroom, she points him to the corner booth in the furthest part of the restaurant.   
  


He protests that he can’t talk then, but Camille counters that with the fact that no one can see him, and he relents.    
  


They go to other places, sometimes, after Camille’s shift, or on her days off- as spring shifts to summer, they trade the diner for the Morley’s pool, normally with Laura and Molly hopping in as well.    
  


The first time Camille invites Al up to her apartment, sometime in late summer, it’s because they’re three hours deep into an argument about whether or not the monarchs should hold as much power as they do.   
  


“But they shouldn’t!” Camille insists, unlocking her door and gesturing Al inside. “The royal family is an outdated formality based on the _opinion_ that one families bloodline is more important than another!”   
  


“The royal family is an institution!” Al says, pacing the length of her living room and back. “They’re public figures held to a standard!”    
  


“Exactly!” Camille exclaims, kicking off her shoes and heading for the kitchen. “I’m making tea, do you want any?”    
  


“Sure, why not,” Al agrees, taking a seat at Camille’s kitchen table.    
  


“Anyway,” Camille says, putting water in her electric kettle, “The royal family are _public figures!_ They’re nothing more than glorified celebrities!” She hops up onto her counter. “When was the last time anyone saw King Roland outside of his throne room or private chambers? He’s practically a cartoon character!”   
  


Al opens his mouth to retort, but pulls up short.    
  


“That’s what I thought,” Camille says, smugly, reaching up to take her hair down. “I’m not saying we get rid of them completely- they are, as you say, an institution- but the council makes most political decisions _anyway,_ so why have an unnecessary middle man?” She shrugs, leaning back on her palms.   
  


Al looks up at her, playing nervously with his ring, suddenly bright red. “What?” Camille asks, one hand immediately going back to her hair. “I know it’s a disaster, but-“    
  


“I really want to kiss you!” Al blurts out, then slaps his hand over his mouth, blushing even harder.    
  


Camille- pauses, one hand still in her hair.    
  


“I’m _so sorry,_ ” Al says, mortified. “I heard you tell that guy yesterday that you weren’t interested in a relationship and here I am _fucking everything up-_ “  
  


“If you’re going to kiss me,” Camille says, breaking through his tirade, “You’d better do it before Laura shows up for movie night.”    
  


Al’s eyes go wide, before he gets up to do just that. In between kisses that alternate between soft and desperate, Camille gasps, “I only told him I didn’t want a relationship because I was waiting for _you,_ you absolute walnut.” 

———

After that, Al comes up to her apartment more often, pressing kisses to Camille’s hands, or head, or whatever else he could reach.    
  


They open up more often.    
  


The night’s mood was somber- had been all night. In the diner all they’d played on the news was coverage about it being the 15th anniversary of the princess of Aldpine’s kidnapping, on top of the rain that had slowed business.    
  


A slow, melancholy night. Camille closed up early, leading Al up the creaking, slippery stairs to her apartment.    
  


After _way_ too many bottles of Camille tells Al about her adoption, and how Maddie, her adoptive mother, is the greatest thing that will ever happen to her. This isn’t new or even secret information- Camille is dark haired and fair-skinned, whereas Maddie and her family are blonde haired and blue eyed and tan like they were born to.   
  


“I was found on the side of a highway,” Camille says, bitterly, leaning heavily against Al’s chest, glass of wine dangling precariously from her fingers. “No memory, no note, barefoot. They don’t know if I was left behind on accident and wandered, or if I was _dumped.”_ She swigs her wine, huffing a sarcastic laugh. “Like an unruly dog.”   
  


“The orphanage was nice- but I felt _stifled._ Like I was used to more. And I remember stuff- big yards, _nice_ houses, like, _mansions_ look small kind of nice. And a baby. Her name was- is-“ Cam trails off, staring off into space, face furrowed in concentration.   
  


“My mom saved my life,” Camille says, suddenly, as seriously as a drunk person can muster.   
  


Al tells her about his parents death on a business trip, and how he’s been left with his overbearing, traditionalist grandfather.    
  


“They died when I was ten,” Al starts, quietly, staring down into his wine. “They- They were only supposed to be gone for a few days- not even a week- and they left while I was sleeping to avoid traffic. Sooner they get there, sooner they leave, right?” He laughs, but there’s no amusement in the sound. “On their way to the airport, a drunk slammed into them head on, going over 100 in the wrong direction."  
  


He laughs again, looking at her through teary eyes. “The authorities said all three were dead on impact. That they didn’t suffer.” Camille curls up into herself, tucking her feet underneath her. “I wish he had, in my darkest moments.” He puts his wine glass on the floor delicately, then wipes his eyes, hands lingering by his mouth. “I hate myself for it in the morning, but I hope he _burns._ ”  
  


Camille nods, leaning up to press her head under his chin like a cat. “I-I think.” Camille stutters, pushing Al to lie down on the sofa, ignoring the tear tracks trailing down Al’s cheeks. “Too sad for drinking tonight.”    
  


“I feel like one of us should’ve said that before we drank 5 bottles of wine,” Al points out, arm winding around Camille’s back to pin her to his chest.   


  
“Mhm, probably.” Camille hums, putting her head down on his chest, listening as his heart, beating slightly fast, beats it’s rhythm in his chest. 

  
She’s almost asleep, in the twilight where one breathe will take her away, when she hears him whisper, “I think they would have liked you.”


End file.
